Inexcusable
by lecabe
Summary: Her beauty, her talent, her goodness; it was inexcusable. It was inexcusable for her to be so remarkable while I was so unremarkable. It was unforgivable. It was inexcusable. Petunia POV over the years-oneshot!


When she spun around, trying to catch the snowflakes in her tongue, she didn't realize how beautiful she looked. Her auburn curls flew around her, a flash of color against white, white snow, and when she laughed, it was like watching a Christmas lights show; all at once, everything lit up in unimaginable beauty and wonder.

She was beautiful; inexcusably beautiful. And I was still me; unforgivably plain. It was one thing for me to be so unassuming, but it was another to be the sister of someone so vivacious. Couldn't she see that this was inexcusable?

She turned to me, her lively green eyes meeting my plain brown eyes. "Isn't it beautiful, Petunia? Doesn't it just make you want to laugh and dance until, I don't know…until you can't anymore?"

I tried to smile, just for her. I tried to smile as she chattered on airily, acting as if there wasn't anything wrong. Acting as if she didn't realize how, at just three months shy from eleven, already she was breathtakingly beautiful. She was beautiful in her smile, her laugh, her eyes, her twirl, her wonder; she was inexcusably, unforgivably beautiful.

* * *

I watched as the flowers danced around my head. Lilies soared in an airy, carefree dance, while the petunias moved with the breeze, gently rocking as they followed the lilies' graceful lead.

She giggled. "Tuney, look!" She squinted harder and did some silly-looking flourish that made the flowers to spin faster and brighter and further until I couldn't watch it anymore. I sneaked a peek at her, though, before I ducked my head; she was sitting there, transfixed, watching the marvel she had created.

She was extraordinary; inexcusably extraordinary. She dared to be great, when I was simply ordinary. She had the nerve to be everything I couldn't be and throw it back in my face, those gorgeous green eyes mocking me. She had the guts to be one-of-a-kind, when I could only ever hope to be me. Simply Petunia. Only Petunia. Just Petunia.

I stood up abruptly. "I'm going inside. My stomach…I…I don't feel well," I stammered, brushing the grass off my skirt.

She barely even looked up, she was so mesmerized by the silly flowers. "Oh, okay. Tell Mum I'll be inside in a bit," she murmured, to which I nodded hastily as I began my retreat back to the house.

I wanted to be glad for her, I did. But somehow, when I looked at her, all of my good intentions melted away, to be replaced with envy. A startlingly intense, furious envy. Who did she think she was, to achieve so much? It could have just as easily been me; I could have been the one to have the ability to control the flowers, to defy all laws of nature and science. To be great.

Except that wasn't me; it was her. She was the gifted one, not me. She was simply extraordinary; inexcusably, unforgivably extraordinary.

* * *

She was seventeen now and everything I had envied about her when she was eleven had flourished. If she had been beautiful at ten years old, she was now a jaw-dropping, heart-breaking gorgeous. If she had been extraordinary at eleven, then at seventeen, she had exceeded extraordinary.

And it killed me.

She had everything to show for these last six years, while my growth could only be measured in a few measly inches. She had become a goddess, mocking my entire _being_ with simply her presence. So I fought back the only way I knew how; I tried to tear her down.

But everything I said, everything I did-no matter how much it hurt her, no matter how much pain I brought to those dancing green eyes, she continued to tolerate me. She continued to bear me with a strength I knew I didn't possess.

She was a good person; inexcusably good. All of my pettiness and anger only served to throw her perfections into sharper contrast. Nothing I said or did to her could shake that righteous core and I hated her for it. If I was so unmistakably flawed and low, what gave her the right to be such a saint?

That's not to say she put up with my behavior without a fight; she tried to reason with me, tried to console me, tried to understand why I was doing this to her. Sometimes she did this through quiet talks, sometimes through tears, sometimes through loud shouting matches. But for all her glorified cleverness, I don't think she ever realized.

She probably never knew why I wanted to destroy her, in all her goodness. Because that's what she was. She was good; inexcusably, unforgivably good.

* * *

It was a letter. A heart-breakingly short letter from someone by the name of 'Albus Dumbledore'. With a name like that, I'd have written it off as a prank if not for one thing: the letter was accompanied by a basket. And the basket contained my baby nephew.

I could only stare at him, hoping that if I did, I would eventually feel something-anything. Anything besides this hollowness. I studied his toes, his arms, his face. I had never met James, but I had seen his photograph; I could tell that Harry had gotten James' hair. When Harry grew more, I had a feeling he would get more than just James' hair.

But not his eyes. Harry had her eyes. Those gorgeous, dancing, lively green eyes. He met my eyes, for just a moment, and I saw snow. I saw flowers, spinning and soaring in impossibly bright colors. I saw auburn curls, whipping around in the wind. I saw laughter and goodness and I saw her.

But then he blinked and I saw nothing. I felt nothing. I could only see this baby boy, this unwanted intruder, her son.

I read the letter again; phrases like '_she died to save Harry's life' _and _'her love will keep him protected for several years to come'_ jumped out at me from the parchment. But I felt nothing; well, that's not true. I did feel one thing.

Alone.

Even if I had shunned her and ignored her, she was still there. I had had comfort, knowing that though she was a freak, she was still there. Until now. Until she wasn't there.

Because she was gone; she had done something more than be better than me. She had done the most inexcusable thing of all and I could never forgive her for that. After all that she had become, after everything she had been given, she had no right leave it all behind. To leave her life, her child. To leave _me._ She was too beautiful to die. Too extraordinary. Too good.

I had always seen her as a flame. A dancing, burning flame. My mistake in this was forgetting that flames can easily be extinguished, leaving behind only the darkness. Because if she was the flame, then I was the darkness. The light that had penetrated the darkness was gone, so that there was _only_ darkness.

_She shouldn't have done it. She shouldn't have done it,_ I told myself.

But she had. She had died.

So now she was gone. Lily Evans was gone; inexcusably, unforgivably gone.

* * *

**Finished**! Tell me what you think, PLEASE. It's a little choppy and I wrote something like this a good while back called 'Fair Lily' but I've matured (supposedly) in my writing, so I'm hoping this one is a little better.

Anyhow, thank you for reading! Please review-it'll just take a second and it doesn't have to be extensive or anything. Just: did you like it or not? And I would love if you would just tell me why. And lastly, just tell me if you knew it was Lily Evans I was talking about. Example: "I didn't like it because i hate harry potter and i hate you, yes I knew." See! Easy as pie!

THANK YOU! lecabe OUT.


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